cabin when Lewis, standing up, saw a rifle-muzzle pointing straight at
his breast, from a corner of the crib. As quick as thought he sprang
backward--but the ball was on its way. It tore across his breast, and
took a piece of his breast bone. However, he had done well; the rifle
had been aimed to kill, and only the smartness of his frontier training
had saved his life. The children of the border days were brought up to
act fast in self-defence.

He fell. Indians rushed him at once, seized him and little Jacob, and
clapping a hand across their mouths carried them away.

These were a small party of Indians, prowling about in hopes of doing
something just like this. When they had seen Lewis, they had decided
to shoot him. He was a stout, chunky lad, and looked to be older than
his real age; they feared that he would run from them and give the
alarm.

Now they had him and Jacob too. In the timber, pretty soon they set
the two down, and dragged them forward by the arms. There was no use
fighting, there was no use crying; to cry would have been a sign of
weakness, in a border boy, and to fight would have brought only a
beating.

Lewis grew sick with his pain, for his breast had been laid open clear
to the mangled bone. But he uttered never a whimper, and being the
older he of course had to encourage Jacob to keep a stiff upper lip.
He was resolved, though, that the Indians should pay for this, some
day. And he did make them pay, not only for this but for other matters.

"Aren't you bad hurt, Lewis?" panted Jacob.

"Kinder. But if I complain they'll tomahawk me rather'n be pestered."

This night they all slept upon the ground in the woods north of
Wheeling. The Indians tied the boys tightly. There was no chance of
escape and it was a very uncomfortable night, what with Lewis's wound
and Jacob's fear, and the cold and the hunger and the thought of the
cabin on Wheeling Creek.

"Don't you beller, Jakie," Lewis bade. "We won't stay with 'em any
longer'n we have to. We're Wetzels."

In the morning they were taken over the Ohio River in a canoe. That
day they were made to travel twenty miles farther. Like other frontier
boys (and like the girls too) they were raised bare-foot; by this time
on their hustling journey their feet were cut and bleeding, so to-night
the Indians did not tie the two prisoners.

They were foolish Indians; they had little idea of the nerve of white
boys, especially these settle